


Saving Bruce

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Superman - All Media Types, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Protective Alfred Pennyworth, Protective Clark Kent, Secret Identities, Sort Of, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: Bruce Wayne is captured by the Mad Hatter and left to drown. After being saved, Bruce is very confused as to why Superman is crying.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 408





	Saving Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired. I had this idea. I kind of like it, and I hope you do too.

Clark knocked on the entrance door to Wayne Manor, then stepped back, waiting for Bruce to come and let him in as he usually did. Clark was wearing a plaid flannel and dark jeans, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He smiled to himself as he thought about what Bruce was likely going to say about his outfit.

Bruce always made fun of him for being a “country-bumpkin,” often teasing him about his childhood on the farm by calling him  _ Kansas _ . He knew, though, that secretly Bruce loved that his boyfriend was sort of rough and tough. Bruce had been a city slicker his whole life, and his inheritance of and involvement in Wayne Enterprises meant that he had never experienced financial hardship. The general public seemed to feel that, despite the tragedy he faced as a child, Bruce Wayne had been fed with a silver spoon his entire life. Clark knew his life wasn’t  _ that easy _ , but he definitely occasionally recognized some contrast between his Kansas childhood and Bruce’s Gotham one.

To his surprise, nobody came to the door. Clark checked his watch. It was just after seven o’clock which was when they had agreed to meet. This was unusual for Bruce. Usually he was near the door, ready to greet him.

Clark stepped up to the door and knocked again, a little louder, but not with enough force to accidentally damage the fiberglass. This time, he heard shuffling from inside, so he stepped back again.

The door opened slightly, and Alfred peered through the crack at Clark. Clark could see the tension in Alfred’s body, and the concern etched all over his face. He relaxed slightly when he realized that it had been Clark knocking, but he could tell something was still off.

“Ah, Master Clark,” the butler said, opening the door the rest of the way. “I assume you had plans for dinner with Master Bruce this evening.”

“Yes,” Clark said, slightly confused. “Is he not around? We were supposed to meet at seven.” 

“Master Bruce was called away,” Alfred said. “For...uh...a meeting. Yes, an emergency matter at Wayne Enterprises. Urgent business that had to be taken care of; it couldn’t be helped.”

“Alfred,” Clark said, his brow furrowing in concern. “Did something happen? Is Tim okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Alfred said. “Master Timothy is perfectly well, he’s just...uh...in his room.”

Clark’s frown deepened. Alfred  _ never _ stuttered, and unfortunately for him, his sudden struggle for words was giving him away. 

“Can I see him?” Clark said. “I just want to talk to him, make sure everything’s alright.”

“Master Clark,” Alfred chuckled, nervously. “Are you concerned that I am lying to you?”

Clark could tell that the butler was trying to seem casual; but he was failing at it. Alfred was always the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. Seeing him this worked up about something was very unnerving for Clark. 

“I’m not concerned,” Clark said, then he stepped forward to push gently past him. “I’m  _ certain  _ that you’re lying to me, which is not something that you  _ ever _ do. That leads me to believe that something is wrong that Bruce does not want to tell me.”

Alfred put a hand out and stopped him, but not angrily.

“Master Clark,” he said, softly. “It is not Master Bruce who wishes not to tell you; I do, because I am afraid you will only be put in danger, or you will feel hurt and choose to leave him.”

Clark stared at Alfred. Several possible scenarios popped into his head: was Bruce cheating on him? Likely not; they were happy together, and that would be Bruce’s secret to keep, not Alfred’s. Was Bruce hurt, or sick? Would Clark be exposed to something if he came into the manor? That was more plausible, although he didn’t think that  _ that _ was the case either, given that it wouldn’t make him leave Bruce. What would put him in danger though? It didn’t really matter if he was in physical danger, Clark was very difficult to injure, but Alfred didn’t know that.

Neither did Bruce.

So what was it?

“Alfred,” Clark said, quietly. “Whatever is going on, whether it hurts or endangers me or not, I want to know. I may be able to help.”

Alfred looked inquisitive for a second, then sighed.

“Alright, Master Clark,” he gestured past Clark and inside. “Shall we?”

Clark stepped aside and allowed Alfred to lead into the manor. They walked through the hall and up the stairs to the study, where Alfred gestured for Clark to sit on the couch. Once Clark was settled, Alfred folded his hands together and stood across from him, the coffee table between them. 

“Earlier this evening, well, only about half an hour ago, I received a phone call from Mister Jervis Tetch.”

“The Mad Hatter?” Clark asked, cocking his head to the side. “What did he want with Bruce?”

“I think the message was meant for me and Master Tim, actually,” Alfred said, solemnly. “However, I am positive it was  _ about  _ Master Bruce.”

“What did it say?” Clark asked. “Did he give you a rhyme? Recently that’s the only way he has been communicating...at least...according to the news, I guess.”

“Indeed,” Alfred nodded, unphased by Clark’s in-depth knowledge of Gotham’s criminal behavior. “The message was a riddle of sorts, so I called Master Bruce to relay it to him, wondering if perhaps he would understand it better than I had, however he did not answer. I’ve tried communicating with him several ways, but he doesn’t seem to be-”

“Alfred!” Tim yelled from somewhere in the house. It was muffled, but still sounded like it was very close by. Clark could not see him and looked toward the door, expecting Tim to come running through.

What he did not expect, was for the grandfather clock across the room to swing away from the wall, and for Tim to emerge from behind it, dressed head to toe in red, yellow, and black.

“Alfred, I think I figured it out! I think it’s...oh,” he said, noticing Clark sitting casually on the couch. His face turned beet red under Robin’s domino mask. “Oh no, no, no…”

Clark’s brain was working incredibly fast, trying to process the fact that Tim was now here, in front of him, having emerged from a _tunnel_ _in Bruce’s wall_ that led to some place _underground_ , dressed as _Robin_. 

“Master Timothy,” Alfred said calmly.

“Hey! Clark…” Tim said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I’ve just been practicing for…uh ...Halloween! Yeah, Halloween. I’m going to go as Robin!”

Clark stared blankly at Tim, then turned his attention to Alfred.

“Master Timothy,” the butler said. “I fear that you are about as successful a liar as I am. But worry not, I was only moments away from informing Master Clark of our little secret myself.”

“Tim...is Robin,” Clark said, finally beginning to truly process what had just happened. “Which means that Bruce… is Batman...Oh my god, Bruce is Batman.”

Alfred nodded, and Tim started pulling at his hair.

“Oh man,” he said. “Batman’s really not going to like this… he’s  _ really _ not going to like this.”

“Master Timothy, do calm down,” Alfred said. “Master Bruce and I have discussed, on several occasions, the possibility of revealing his identity to Master Clark. I feel that, given the circumstances--which I feel obligated to now remind you of--he will find it in his heart to forgive our blunder. In fact, he may even  _ laugh _ when you describe to him the look on Master Clark’s face.”

Alfred smiled at Clark who was quite pale. Clark quickly closed his mouth and wiped his brow. 

“I just…” Clark said. “How did I not see it before? How could I have possibly not known?” 

“Well, his position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises does prove useful as a cover story. He is also, unfortunately, rather deceptive.”

“Oh, I knew that,” Clark said, his thoughts slowly becoming less and less muffled as he tried to adjust to the idea that for  _ over a year _ , he had been dating  _ Batman _ . It all really made sense when he thought about it… Bruce often had “business to attend to” late in the evenings; later than any W.E. business would require him. He also came home frequently with injuries that Clark could not explain, but always chalked them up to his recreational sports (which now, Clark realized, were actually just his nightly patrols). He was stronger than any human Clark had ever met, physically and mentally,  _ and _ Clark  _ knew _ that Batman’s parents had died when he was younger, just like Bruce’s. The money, the gadgets, the secrets…not to mention the fact that Superman had an undeniable and inexplicable attraction to Batman...all of it just  _ clicked _ . 

“Okay,” Clark said suddenly, realizing that he could mull over the situation at a later date. “Okay. Bruce is Batman. So. How did the Mad Hatter get his hands on him? I’m assuming that’s what you think is going on here? That Bruce...Batman… has been captured?”

“Yes,” Tim said, before Alfred could say anything. “But not as Batman. Just as Bruce.” He pulled off the domino mask and trotted over to the couch, the grandfather clock swinging back into place as he stepped away. Alfred also joined them, and together, they examined a piece of paper Tim had brought up from the Batcave.

(Clark had had another moment of shock and disbelief when he realized that he had spent more than a year frequenting a manor with a  _ hidden, underground, technology-filled cave _ .)

He flattened the paper on the coffee table and read aloud the riddle:

_ At this jovial joint, your stag you’ll find, _

_ But do beware, the passage of time… _

_ The spill succeeds my staggering song, _

_ Tank empty now, but not for long... _

_ I’ll help him, first, the flood withstand, _

_ Then he’ll have to hold, without his hands. _

“Oh for goodness sake,” Alfred muttered. “Why must he insist on speaking all this tosh?”

Clark and Tim both shook their heads, focusing on the paper.

“So what did you think you had figured out here, Tim?” Clark asked, going over the lines again.

“So,” Tim started, pointing at the first line. “I’m thinking “jovial joint” might be a stand in for Amusement Mile, the old theme park that used to be Joker’s hang out. It’s in a really sketchy part of the city; sounds like the type of place you might take someone who you’ve kidnapped. I’m not sure about “stag,” although based on the context I would assume that’s Bruce.”

“Yes,” Clark said, nodding. “I would assume so as well. Stag is another word for a bachelor; and Bruce is frequently referred to as Gotham’s most eligible.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Alfred said. “The next line seems fairly obvious…”

“Whatever he’s doing or has already done to Bruce is time-sensitive,” Tim said.

“It might be that the more time passes, the more danger Bruce is in, or like a bomb or something, where there is a limited time to find him,” Clark said. The others nodded.

“I think it’s something to do with water,” Tim said. “Look at the word choice… spill, tank, flood...all of those can be related to water.”

“There was once a very popular aquarium at Amusement Mile,” Alfred said. “Is it possible he’s holding Bruce inside an abandoned tank?”

Clark nodded. “That’s very plausible. What worries me is that it sounds like the tank may be filling…”

“Of course!” Tim yelled suddenly. “I couldn’t figure out what the last line could possibly mean, but what do you _hold_ _without using your hands_?”

“Your breath,” Clark said, quietly, a look of horror spreading across his face. “He’s going to drown Bruce.” 

Alfred’s face drained of all color, and Tim leapt to his feet.

“I’m going there right now,” he said, grabbing the domino mask and pressing it to his face. Clark grabbed his wrist before he ran out of the room.

“I’m coming with you,” Clark said, removing his glasses and reaching for the buttons on his flannel.

“Master Clark,” Alfred said. “I know it might be concerning that Master Timothy is so young, but I can assure you…” Alfred’s statement trailed off, his face frozen in surprise. “My word!”

Clark had pulled open his flannel, revealing the House of El insignia on his chest.

Tim gawked at him, the lenses of his mask blown wide in shock and awe. 

“It makes perfect sense! You’re...you’re…”

“Superman,” Clark said. “Yes, and I promise you Tim, and Alfred, I will answer any and all questions you may have as soon as we find and save Bruce, okay?”

Alfred nodded, and Tim brushed himself off in an attempt to regain his composure. Clark knelt on the floor with his back to Tim, gesturing for him to climb onto his back.

“Hop on,” he said. Tim obeyed, Alfred opened the study window, and Clark took off into the Wayne estate’s back gardens. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“That way,” Tim yelled, pointing off into the setting sky. Clark took off. “Batman told me once while under one of Ivy’s gases that you were hot,” Tim said, chuckling. “Not as hot as Clark, but still pretty gorgeous.”

Clark didn’t say anything, and was grateful that Tim couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks.

“I can’t believe I’m basically Superman’s step son.” 

“You’re Batman’s  _ actual _ son, and he’s way cooler,” Clark said loudly, the wind whipping his face and muffling his words. “But let’s just focus on saving him.”

“You’re basically an invincible alien, so you’re cooler.” Tim mumbled, tightening his grip around Clark’s shoulders. “But okay, you’re right. We’re almost there.”

It had only taken them a few minutes to arrive at the abandoned grounds. Clark stayed airborne for a few moments, scanning the area quickly for any sign of Bruce. 

He spotted a sign that featured a large, fading and discolored shark, and began to fly towards it. On his way, he looked behind the sign and saw Bruce’s body, indeed suspended in chains inside a large tank, now full of water. 

Clark felt relieved for a moment when he saw that Bruce was wearing an oxygen mask, but the relief was quickly diminished when he saw that the mask had slipped and was filled with water. Bruce’s eyes were closed behind the goggles, his body still and rigid.

He wasted no time, flying only low enough to safely deposit Tim onto the floor of the aquarium. He bounded over the top of the tank and dove in, heading straight for the chains around Bruce’s wrists and ankles. With a swift flick of his wrists, the thick metal snapped, freeing Bruce’s body.

Clark wrapped his arms around the unconscious man and kicked off from the base of the tank. They propelled easily out of the water, and Clark brought Bruce’s body down to where Tim was waiting.

As soon as he had laid him down, Clark pressed his ear to Bruce’s chest. His heart wasn’t beating, but his skin was still warm with life. He pinched Bruce's nose and tipped his chin back, opening his mouth and delivering two rescue breaths.

“He isn’t convulsing,” he said through gritted teeth to Tim as he fell back onto his heels and began compressions on Bruce’s chest. “That’s a good thing. He’s unconscious, but his organs haven't started completely shutting down yet.”

“Can you save him?” Tim asked. Clark could hear the change in his voice, Tim’s typically sassy and comical tone completely erased and replaced by fear and desperation.

“Did Bruce ever teach you CPR?” Clark said, still pounding on Bruce’s chest. When Tim nodded, Clark instructed him on what to do: “One one-second breath every eight seconds.”

Tim nodded again and moved to Bruce’s head. Clark didn’t pay much attention to Tim’s breaths, trusting that he knew what he was doing. He focused on maintaining the steady rhythm of his compressions and making sure he didn’t use too much force. He could feel Bruce’s ribs cracking underneath his fists, but he kept pushing. 

“Dammit, Bruce, come on,” He gasped. Panic was rising in his chest, despite his best efforts to suppress it. “Come on, Bruce! Breathe! Please breathe!”

Clark heard Tim deliver another breath, and suddenly, Bruce’s whole body convulsed. He was sputtering and coughing up water as Clark quickly rolled him onto his side, pressing his thumb firmly but gently into the divot below Bruce’s lip to keep his mouth open. His coughing quickly turned into retching as Bruce vomited the remaining water out of his system. He was panting, his breath rapid and uneven as Clark cleared his mouth.

Bruce groaned and looked up at Superman. Clark rubbed a gentle hand over Bruce's chest, as if willing his lungs to keep functioning. Bruce coughed once more, spitting up a final mouthful of water. 

Tim knelt frozen behind Clark. He had rushed out of the way as soon as Bruce started coughing, allowing Superman to step in. His hand was clamped over his mouth, and though none fell, it was clear he was close to tears.

Clark just kept rubbing Bruce’s chest, turning to Tim and asking him to call Alfred. He waited until Bruce’s breathing evened out, to the point where he felt he might burst, then drew Bruce up into his arms and held him close to his chest.

He tangled his hand in Bruce’s sopping hair, pressing his head into the crook of his own neck.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he sobbed, allowing the fear, panic, and relief to catch up to him. They crashed over him like a violent wave, and he clutched at Bruce. “I love you, Bruce. I love you so so much…”

Bruce stayed like that for a moment, then--using the little strength he had--he pushed back at Clark’s hand. He dropped it in response, allowing his boyfriend to pull back and look at his face.

“No…’ve got a boyfriend,” he mumbled, trying still to pull away from Superman. Clark couldn’t help but laugh at Bruce’s confusion, regardless of the fact that it was perfectly justified. 

“Bruce,” Clark whispered, smiling down at his very dizzy, very confused lover. “I am your boyfriend.”

“No...‘s Clark,” Bruce said, his eyes drifting shut. “Kansas.”

Clark laughed, a few stray tears rolling down his face. At least he knew Bruce was loyal.

“Bruce,” Clark tried again. “I am Clark.  _ Kansas _ . Reporter for the Daily Planet, and your boyfriend of more than a year. I’m also Superman.”

Bruce opened his eyes again just as Clark heard an engine whirring near the entrance of the park, signaling that Alfred had received Tim’s call and was coming in to find them. Tim stood from behind Superman and exited the aquarium, presumably to find Alfred and direct him to Bruce’s exact location.

Clark wiped stray tears from his eyes as he looked down at Bruce. His boyfriend looked utterly perplexed, his mouth opening as if to speak.

“No,” Clark said, smiling gently. “Don’t talk, Bruce. We can have this conversation when you’re feeling better. Besides, I don’t think I can convince you right now.”

He wanted nothing more than to press a proper kiss to Bruce’s lips, but knew that his boyfriend was still too confused. Besides, Alfred and Tim came rushing over moments later. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred said, taking in his soaked clothing and generally disheveled appearance. “I’m so glad to see that you’re safe now. That was quite the scare.”

Bruce smiled weakly.

“...’m okay,” he said to him, his head lolling back onto Clark’s chest. Evidently, he had forgotten that Superman was not his boyfriend, or perhaps was just too out of it to care. “Robin?”

“I’m here, Bruce,” Tim said, stepping up behind Clark and pressing his hand to Bruce’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Bruce said. “But I’m cold and wet and I want to go home.”

Clark carried Bruce to the car that Alfred had brought, laying him down gently in the back seat. Tim climbed in behind him, and Clark decided to give him the ride back to the manor alone with his adoptive father. As Clark was about to shut the door, Tim stuck out his arm.

“Thank you, Superman,” he said, smiling up at him. “Thank you for saving his life.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Robin,” Clark smiled. “Good to know you’re an expert at CPR too. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Tim smiled fondly down at Bruce. 

“Well, I was trained by the  _ very best _ .”

\-----

By the time Alfred pulled the car into the manor, Clark had already changed out of his sopping wet costume and back into his flannel and jeans. He rushed out the front door as soon as he heard the engine, opening the back door and pulling Bruce effortlessly into his arms again.

Bruce leaned into his flannel and took a deep breath. Clark felt his grip tighten.

“Clark,” Bruce said softly, his voice muffled by the cotton fibers, but much steadier and closer to normal than it had been at Amusement Mile. “I almost drowned.”

“I know, Bruce,” Clark said, smiling. He walked him into the manor, and Alfred directed them straight to the grandfather clock. 

Bruce’s face was still buried in Clark’s flannel when they stepped onto the staircase. Clark managed to walk him all the way down and almost to the medlab before he realized that he was being carried by  _ Clark _ , which meant that  _ Clark was in the batcave _ .

“Whoa!” he yelled suddenly, pulling away from Clark. “What are you doing?”

Clark refused to set him down until they reached a bed where Alfred immediately began hooking up oxygen and a low-dosage intravenous line of morphine, for his ribs. Clark was about to speak, but Alfred cut in.

“Master Bruce,” he said, holding out his hand. Bruce looked sideways at Clark and laid his arm in Alfred’s open hand. “I know this must be confusing, especially considering that you have just survived a near death experience.”

“Near death? Hardly. I wasn’t…”

“You weren’t breathing,” Clark interjected, stepping back and crossing his arms. His face remained soft, but concerned. “I had to give you CPR.”

Bruce shook his head as Alfred taped off the IV and pushed his chest, forcing him to lay down on the bed. From there, Alfred gently pressed a cannula into Bruce’s nose, a quiet whistling indicating that oxygen was flowing into his body. 

“Superman gave me CPR,” Bruce said.

“Yes he did,” Alfred said. “Because you were unconscious and your  _ heart had stopped _ .”

Bruce scoffed and lifted his hand, but Alfred glared daggers at him. The look was sharp enough to put a stop to whatever Bruce was about to do.

“I would have been fine,” Bruce said, looking annoyed.

“Bruce you are so stubborn,” Clark said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Your lips had started turning blue. It took almost a solid minute of CPR to bring you back to consciousness.”

“Why are you talking like you were there, Clark? You didn’t even see me.”

“I saved your life,” Clark said. Alfred nodded.

“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “Superman did. I was out of it, but I remember. Then he pulled me in and held me. He was crying for some reason, and he told me…”

He trailed off just as Tim walked up. 

“Did you tell him?” he asked, looking from Clark, to Bruce, to Alfred.

“I believe that Master Bruce is on the verge of discovering it for himself,” Alfred said, a calm smile on his face.

“Clark…” Bruce said, sitting up. Alfred grimaced, but did not say anything. The IV and cannula remained secure. “Are you...Superman?”

Clark nodded and reached up, pulling off his glasses. Bruce stared at him for a minute, looking back and forth between Clark’s face and the glasses in his hand. He looked at Tim, looked at Alfred, and then turned his attention back to Clark. It was a few moments before he spoke.

“Holy fucking shit,” he said, his jaw dropping slightly. He quickly looked Clark up and down again. “Christ...God fucking damnit...Shit, jesus, it’s so fucking obvious!”

“Language, Master Bruce!” Alfred scolded, appalled at the string of expletives Bruce had shamelessly blurted. He glanced at Tim who was laughing very loudly.

“Alfred,” Tim wheezed. “You said Bruce would find Clark’s reaction funny, but oh my god this was so much better!”

“Clark!” Bruce said, sternly. “How could you not tell me this?”

Clark laughed.

“Excuse me? This coming from the freaking  _ Batman! _ ”

“Fair,” Bruce’s face softened and he laughed too. “In my defense, I kind of thought you’d figure that one out, Kansas. Where do you think I got all of these scars? Aren’t you supposed to be an investigative journalist?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the  _ World’s Greatest Detective _ ?” Clark barked back, playfully. “All I do is put on a pair of glasses!”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “You probably should be a little more involved with your disguise.”

Clark laughed. 

“Well, considering that I fooled you for more than a year, I think I’m okay.”

Bruce’s smile melted into a sigh as he noticed that Alfred and Tim had busied themselves in the lab. He stared after his adoptive son, then looked back at Clark.

“Does this change anything?” he asked. There was a flash of concern behind his eyes as they met Clark’s.

“What would it change, Bruce?” Clark asked, taking his hand in his own. 

“I don’t know,” Bruce asked. “Now that we know, we’re probably going to work together more often around here. Tim wouldn’t have to go on patrol as much; wouldn’t have to be in danger as often, and don’t get me wrong, that sounds ideal. Tonight reminded me of how dangerous it can be out there... but at the same time, if I told him he didn’t get to be Robin as much anymore…”

“Bruce,” Clark smiled gently. “You’re forgetting that I still have my own city to protect. I’m not going to leave Metropolis high and dry when there are two more than capable heroes here to take care of Gotham.”

He squeezed Bruce’s hand.

“Tim would be devastated if he wasn’t allowed to be Robin anymore,” Clark continued. “I know it’s dangerous, but you trained him well. He helped me save your life tonight.”

Bruce smiled and looked back over at the lab.

“I wish you didn’t have to take care of Metropolis,” he said. “Because I want you to come and live with me.”

Clark stared at Bruce who shifted his gaze back to Clark.

“I’m not...I’m not good at being a father,” he said. “You and Tim have always… I don’t know, Clark. I just feel like it would be good for Tim too, if you were around more often.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Bruce,” Clark said. “You’re a great father to Tim. Don’t tell him I told you, but he was damn near crying when I pulled you out of the water. He was  _ terrified _ . Don’t tell me you’re a bad father when your son could hardly bear the thought of losing you. He loves you.”

“I love him too,” Bruce said. “I’m just...not good at showing it, I guess. I’m working on it.”

They shared a few moments of silence.

“Metropolis needs me,” Clark said, softly, squeezing Bruce’s hand again. “Fortunately, though, I have pretty good hearing and can fly pretty quickly. It would  _ definitely _ be possible for me to live in Gotham and still work in and take care of Metropolis.”

Bruce squeezed his hand back. “So you want to?”

“I’d love to, Bruce,” Clark said. “Batman. I love you so much. No more near-death experiences, though, okay? For me, and for Tim.”

“I love you too, Superman,” Bruce smiled, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll try my best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and very much appreciated. Thanks for stopping by!


End file.
